


Children of Monsters

by loquitur_tenebrarum



Series: Trash Crime Parents Family AU [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/M, family au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loquitur_tenebrarum/pseuds/loquitur_tenebrarum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was no longer a monster in human skin. She was now a mother and had a family. But in their business, one couldn't afford to have families. They only opened the door to pain, death, and heartbreak; yet somehow, a family was all she unconsciously craved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brahms Lullaby

Shrieking and crying echoed through the house, shattering the pre-dawn silence. It was shrill, sure to awaken any and all within the abode, and waken they did. Gold eyes pried themselves open and stared at the ceiling of the master bedroom as the gears in Cinder’s mind began processing what exactly was going on. _The baby._

A month and a half ago, a considerably less pregnant Cinder Fall had been released from the Vale city hospital with her boyfriend and daughter to return to their shared home. The first few weeks had been grating to say the least: lacking any real knowledge of what to do with a screaming infant, maternal instinct be damned. But Roman somehow had a real knack for childcare. He had been able to show her how to hold Blake _just right_ to get her to stop crying, how to get her settled in for bed, to properly change and swaddle the girl. The rest, he said, would come with time, and for everyone’s sakes, she sincerely hoped it did.

Beside her in bed Roman stirred, making to sit up, but she patted his shoulder, quietly telling him she’d care for Blake. Feet hit the cold hardwood, contrasting greatly with the warm silks they just left, a shiver running up the length of her spine as she pulled her bathrobe over her shoulders. She padded out into the hall and down to the nursery, the pitiful wailing growing louder with each step. Light from the moon spilled into the nursery through the window, casting a silver glow on the little girl squirming in the crib.

Cinder reached down and scooped up her daughter, pulling her close to her chest along with a blanket, and turned to leave. Down the stairs she went, a colossal yawn splitting her jaw, and she settled onto the couch, pulling her legs up under herself. Once seated, the robe slid from her shoulders with a strap of her silk nightgown, allowing Blake to latch on to her chest.

The crying ceased as the baby fed, the soft sounds of suckling filling the space wailing once held, and Cinder looked down to contemplate the child in her arms. In the month that she had been home, Blake had proven to be a challenge of her own, yet offered the sweetest rewards. She was a quiet child, but when she wanted something, she made it known quite promptly. Whenever she cried, there was always a reason. Never just senseless crying of confusion.

But as tiring as caring for the newborn was, she wouldn’t trade it for anything. The moment she saw her daughter’s face, the maternal bond snapped into place within her to banish contempt and fear, replacing it with an unfathomable connection and even deeper devotion. Never in Cinder’s dark, twisted life had she ever thought she would value the life of another more than her own, even Roman’s, but Blake was different. She would gladly throw herself in front of a truck, take a bullet, or sacrifice a limb if it meant her baby girl would be safe and sound, and the thought surprised her. She was supposed to be an emotionless monster, sired and sculpted by the scum of the earth, so filthy in her heritage and morals that mud ran thick through her veins. Time and time again she silenced lives that groveled at her feet for mercy, not even blinking as she pulled the trigger and blood painted the floor. She was thought to be cruel and heartless, yet here she sat, swooning over a baby; a _faunus_ baby no less, and smiling happily, content with life.

In the span of Cinder’s musings, Blake had since finished feeding and fell asleep atop her mother’s bosom, face nestled into the soft and spice scented fabric of Cinder’s robe. Softly, she ran fingernails over the little girl’s back in small circular motions as she herself reclined on the sofa, exhaustion crashing over her form. Making sure Blake was safe and secure resting atop her chest and guarded by a protective arm, Cinder allowed her own eyes to close, delighting in the peacefulness of the moment as the thought slowly crept through her mind that no, she was no longer a monster. She was human. She was a _mother._

A small smile graced her lips as consciousness left, allowing the respite of sleep to take it’s place.

* * *

 

 

An hour later, Roman awoke to find the space in bed beside him empty and cold. With a sigh he rose from the bed to make his way downstairs, absolutely sure he knew where his girlfriend was, and the situation she was in. It was all he could do to help her.

Sure enough, just as pre-dawn light began seeping through the blinds, there on the couch lay Cinder, out like a light with Blake sprawled atop her chest, equally dead to the world. Smiling and rolling his eyes, he gently pried the little girl out of her mother’s grasp and took her back upstairs, laying her gently in the crib for the rest of the morning until she decided it was time for baby Blake to rise and greet the world.

Down again he went, this time scooping up his girlfriend to bring her back to a more suitable sleeping arrangement. Her stay in the hospital left her weighing next to nothing, form incredibly light in Roman’s arms as he hauled her upstairs and to their bedroom.

With Cinder back in bed with him and pressed into his side he was able to rest easy, having already almost lost the woman once, he was occasionally startled to wake alone. Heaving a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to sleep, welcoming it’s embrace as all was right and well in the home, when a loud crying rang out, shattering any hopes he had of sleeping. Now, it was his turn to tend to the baby.

 


	2. You and Me and the Devil Makes Three

 “Mama, what were things like before I came along with you and Papa?” The two had been sitting on the couch, enjoying “girls night” since Roman was out of the house working, Blake curled up in her mothers lap, head resting against one shoulder as they watched some movie play on tv. The question came from absolutely nowhere, startling the woman slightly. Her life before Blake was something many might not deem appropriate for a six-year-old, she had to think on her feet to avoid having to explain casual sex, heavy drinking and murder to her innocent daughter.

“Well,” her reply was hesitant, attempting to be delicate. “Before you were born, it was somewhat hard. I didn’t really take care of myself very well, and your Papa kept trying to help me. But back then, I didn’t really like Papa that much.” Smaller golden eyes widened in shock, focusing on only a small part of the response.

“You _didn’t_ like Papa? How could you _not like_ Papa! He’s so nice, and funny, and funny-looking and-” little hands slapped themselves over her mouth as she registered what she had said about her beloved Papa. “Please don’t tell him I said that?” Worry creased her young forehead.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” A wink passed between mother and daughter. “He _is_ nice and funny and funny-looking, and he was back then too. I just didn’t see it then. I thought he was just loud and annoying.”

Blake agreed heartily that the man could be obnoxious and boisterous, but still couldn’t believe her mother hadn’t liked him. “But- but you like him so much now! How come you like Papa now that I’m here, but not then?” Blake’s small hands braced themselves on her mother’s chest as the little girl reared back to look directly at her mother.

“When I was pregnant with you, I didn’t really have a lot of help. But Papa decided to help me, even though I didn’t want it. He kept me from doing stupid things, and I guess that’s when I started to figure out he was actually a really nice guy, and that I liked him.” A swift kiss was placed on Blake’s forehead, earning a giggle. “And you helped me realise it.”

She knew her mother was a strong woman, and even at such a young age knew her mother wouldn’t willingly ask for help. “Why didn’t you want help though? What kinda stupid stuff?”

Cinder winced, remembering her pregnancy, the drinking, the threats, the times she had tried to destroy either an unborn Blake or herself. It was a dark time indeed, one she didn’t particularly wish to recall. “Blake, if there is one thing I can teach you, it’s that asking for help takes more strength than anything, and you can always ask for help.” The little girl in her lap nodded.

“I know, Mama. You tell me that all the time.”

“Good. Well, I drank a lot of things that weren’t good for me then, and Papa kept me from drinking that stuff. I was also sad a lot, and that’s no way for anyone to feel with someone as precious as you on the way. But Papa was so worried about you and me that he barged into my life and never left.”

Tiny black ears fell back slightly, a frown crossing the girl’s face. “I’m glad Papa didn’t leave. I think I would miss him too much if he did. And then I’d be sad lots too.” A bright pair of shining yellow eyes looked worriedly up at her mother, ears pressed flat against her skull. “Now that I’m here, you aren’t sad a lot anymore, right?” The sight of her daughter cowering at the thought of Cinder’s displeasure tore at her heart.

“Of course I’m not sad anymore. It’s hard to be sad when you have a cute little kitten to take care of!” The statement quickly turned into an assault, Cinder playfully pressing quick kisses across the little girl’s head, Blake giggling as her mother doted on her.

“Mama, I’m not a kitten! I’m a little girl, I just got kitty ears too!”

“I know, I know.” Cinder giggled along, her attack ceasing as she sat back, hand coming up to scratch at little ears. “I’m lucky to have you, Papa too.”

Purrs shook the little girl’s chest at her mother’s ministrations, settling back against her mother’s chest. “I’m lucky to have such a good Mama and Papa.” High praise to a woman of Cinder’s calibre. Her heart constricted harshly as she remembered her earlier qualms with motherhood, thoughts of never being able to mother a child, bearing a creature full of resentment and being unable to care for it in any form. Yet here in her arms was this innocent little girl, who was sweeter than honey and regarded her mother as a hero. A child that Cinder found she couldn’t picture life without, who she would fight tooth and nail to protect. Silence settled on the pair as they sat, enjoying the tender embrace.

“Mama, why don’t you and Papa wear rings like other mamas and papas?” Blake’s curiosity once again halted all her mother’s thoughts.

“Well, most mamas and papas get married before they have kids, or even after they have kids. Sometimes, though, they don’t get married at all, and that’s okay too. Your Papa and I never got married, but it doesn’t mean we love each other or you any less than if we were married.”

“If you and Papa haven’t gotten married yet, are you going to? Oh, Mama, can I be the flower girl? No, wait! I wanna be your _maid of honour!”_ Excitement flooded Blake’s form as she practically bounced in Cinder’s lap.

All Cinder had wanted to do that afternoon was enjoy her weekend, watch a shitty movie, and spend time with her daughter after a week of drug trafficking and anarchy, and now her six year old was basically planning out her wedding in a blur of words and thoughts. Colours were spouted, the little girl demanding that there be “a bajillion flowers” followed by a verbalized debate with herself if it should be inside or outside. The six year old was rambling at this point, hardly stopping to breathe as her face began shifting through shades of red and sentences slurred together.

“Blake, honey, let’s not get carried away here!” Finally reigning in her daughter before Cinder had an anxiety attack from the thought of getting married. “Before any of that can happen, your Papa has to propose.” It sure as hell wouldn’t be _her_ popping the question, and if anything, Roman would be just as startled by the idea if not more. Leave it to her weenie boyfriend to save them both from certain situations. “You might want to ask him about _that_ when he gets home.” As soon as Cinder said that, she remembered Blake had Roman wrapped around her little finger, being the poster child “Daddy’s Little Princess.” With just the right look, there was a legitimate possibility that she _could_ have Roman proposing to her mother on the drop of a hat; yet Cinder didn’t retract her statement. At that moment the movie still playing on the TV before them interrupted Blake’s train of thought, quieting her as she was sucked back into the story before her and allowing her mother to ruminate on the topic.

She knew she loved Roman, and that Roman loved her, but _marriage?_ It seemed almost out of the question. Already she had broken the laws and instincts near beaten into her by her malefactor sire; she let her emotions cloud her judgements, she let people get close to her, _she had a family._ The addition of Blake to her life opened many dangerous gateways to those who wanted to hurt or use her. One threat to her daughter could easily destroy everything she had worked her whole life for, or if someone dared to lay a hand on Blake, Cinder wouldn’t hesitate to go on a rampage, finding and destroying the monster who would try and steal away her happiness. That’s exactly what Cinder Fall was supposed to be: _a monster._

A marriage would leave a paper trail, making it even easier to track down Roman and herself, making it easier to destroy what little part of life she enjoyed. But then again, the idea of solidifying their relationship to such a level, ensuring that he was hers and she was his. After all, the only change in the setup they had would be a ring or two. Maybe marrying that weenie wouldn’t be so bad?

Turning her own attention back to the movie, Blake still curled up in her lap, she decided to wait it out and let the pieces fall where they may. The ball was now in Roman’s court, and he could decide what he wanted to do; maybe with the help of an energetic Blake.  


	3. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Silence rested gently over the world, hills and cities alike swaddled in the soft darkness of night as the moon hung watchfully in the sky. The stars glittered in their stations above, guiding travelers in both dreams and waking and retelling stories centuries old while seated in satin skies. Everything felt peaceful and _right._ It was nights like these Roman liked best.

When the moon was full he would frequent the balcony to sit and meditate, thinking on his life, his future, his family; all the while chomping at a cigar. Most nights he would sit alone, occasionally being joined by Cinder to sit in companionable silence with a glass of wine or whiskey, but tonight he had a special guest. With feet up on the balcony railing, Roman reclined in his wicker chair, eight year old Blake curled and dozing on his lap with small hands fisted in his shirt as he read to her from a battered old book.

He would chuckle to himself occasionally as he looked over the books his daughter chose to read together. Blake was a smart girl, presenting books some might not consider reading until they reached their teen years, but by no means were they dry. No, she had a knack for finding books with complex storylines yet remained simple enough to read to a child and were rife with fantasy. Finishing the current chapter and sliding a black silk ribbon between the pages, Roman set the book aside and looked up at the moon and sighed, enjoying the small weight against his chest.

Moments later, Blake stirred, stifling a yawn as she pushed closer to Roman’s chest, leaching his body heat in a manner eerily similar to her mother. “No, one more chapter, Papa. Please?”

“Mmm, I don’t think so.” Roman hummed, hugging the girl closer. “I think it’s time for little girls to be in bed.” He grunted softly as he stood, carrying his daughter against his chest as he walked through the balcony doors and into the master bedroom, where Cinder sat on the bed, reading a book of her own.

“But Papa, I don’t wanna go to bed.” She slurred around another jaw splitting yawn.

“Papa said, and so it shall be.” He chided softly. “Say goodnight to Mama.” Blake lifted her head from Roman’s shoulder and turned to bid her mother goodnight, Cinder rising from the bed to place a kiss on her daughter’s forehead and whispering a goodnight of her own, reminding Blake that she was loved.

Down the hall Roman went, turning into Blake’s room and ladling her into bed, pulling the covers over her, and kissing her forehead. Just as he straightened up, however, drooping feline ears suddenly became attentive and once tired eyes now stared warily at a darkened corner of the room, shrouded in shadows. Something was amiss, and by god, it’s Papa’s job to make sure everything is alright. “What’s wrong, kitten?”

“I think there’s something bad in the shadows.” Her reply was soft, anxious, _afraid._

A fear of the dark, one of the most basic fears known to civilization. A fear of the unknown. Of course a small child would be terrified of darkened corners and the monsters lurking within their murky depths. Humming softly to himself, Roman confirmed her fears.

“Well, scary things like shadows, which is why we just can’t have shadows, can we?” Blake turned her gaze back to Roman, leveling him with a quizzical look. “Which is why Papa fixed it a long time ago.

“Before you were born, the world was really, really dark, especially at night. There were a lot of shadows, and a lot of monsters in them, and I knew that was no way for a world to be with a little girl as special as you coming along.

“So just before you were born, Papa went out with his ladder and hung up the moon, and for a while it kept the shadows away. But the moon wasn’t always out, so Papa went out and put up the stars, so when the moon isn’t out, they can always light the shadows for you.”

As Roman continued to spin his story, Blake listened with rapt attention and fascination that her Papa did something so amazing. Crossing the room to the window, Roman pulled up the blinds just enough to let the argent light into the room and banish away the shadows. “Isn’t that better?”

Blake nodded, settling back into bed as drowsiness washed over her again and the fear of lurking terrors abolished. “Thanks Papa.”

“Anything for you, Kitten.” Roman whispered as he bent to kiss her forehead, then turned to leave the room. As the door softly shut behind him, the weight of his own words settled over his shoulders and a bitter taste settled across his tongue.

Evil really lurked in the shadows, and he was proof of such a claim. Both Blake’s parents were, and try as they might to keep Blake as far from that hideous truth as possible, they still resided in the very dark that Blake feared.

Solemn steps took Roman back to the master bedroom, where he sat heavily on the bed and freed a leaden sigh. “We are the monsters in our daughter’s closet, aren’t we?” Cinder considered the question as she shut her book and looked tiredly at Roman.

“Probably, but remember, there can’t be shadows unless there’s light.” Many times they held the debate over whether or not a pair of sinners deserved such a beautiful and pure child; whether or not they were able to successfully raise a child and keep them separate from the world they both grew up in. A world of death, chaos, and deceit is no place for a child such as Blake, but if that was true, then would two wrought from the same chaos and deceit be able to care for this delicate flower? “Look at her so far. Blake is happy, brilliant, and thriving. We must be doing something right.”

Cinder shifted on the bed, draping herself across Roman’s shoulders and locking her arms around his neck. “We’ve finally done something good with our rotten, evil lives with her. We should appreciate that, not brood over it.”

“Look at you, waxing poetic.” Roman chuckled, “How much have you had to drink tonight? Should I be concerned for your liver?” Snorting, Cinder pushed herself off him, rolling onto her side and faced away from the smirking man.

“Apparently I haven’t had enough, because you’re still annoying.”

Roman flopped back onto the mattress and wrapped his arms around Cinder’s smaller form, trapping her against his chest as he buried his face against her neck. “I’m not annoying. I’m charming and you know it.”

“No, you’re annoying, and the only reason I keep you around is because you keep my bed warm and my kid seems to like you.”

“Ah, you wound me.”

Rolling around in his grasp, Cinder placed a solid kiss against his lips, though ending it before Roman could truly enjoy the experience. “Does that soothe your hurt pride?”

“A few more, and it may stop stinging so.” A sly grin snaked across his face as he spoke, but Cinder was immoveable as always.

“Well then, you’re going to have to earn them, aren’t you?” She snarked, a hand reaching up to toy with shaggy red hair.

“Is that a challenge, Madame?” He inquired, levering himself up to loom over the woman in his grasp.

“It just might be, unless you’re too much of a weenie to find out?” She disputed, saucy smirk adorning her lips. Roman’s reply was to reach across her and switch off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save the soft moonlight dripping in from the balcony doors, chasing away the shadows and the evils that lurked within.

 


	4. Waltzing Matilda

Thursdays were among Blake’s favourite days of the week; it meant the week was almost over, soon she would be able to spend the weekend playing with friends or her parents, and best of all; Thursdays were Daddy-Daughter nights. These were the nights Cinder often stayed late “at the office,” Blake thinking her mother was a successful Realtor instead of a weapon smuggling, domestic terrorist drug lord. These were the nights she and her Papa would sit down and watch movies, gorge themselves on ice cream, and just have  _ fun.  _ Granted, Blake could have fun easily with both parents or just her mother, but she loved spending time with her Papa, and him alone. Most nights would find them sitting in a walled off section of the basement affectionately dubbed “The Kitten Cave,” which was a hidden bunker masquerading as a secret playroom, where they would watch movies, play games, or read. 

Tonight however, Blake sat on the couch of the living room and read as Roman bustled about in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. Soft classical music played from the stereo shoved to the side on the breakfast bar and Roman softly swayed in place to the steady beat of strings and woodwinds. He had always preferred small ensemble classical, whereas Cinder enjoyed larger symphonies and swing. Light crescendos and softer mordents lured his mind away to a hazy time where Roman’s own fingers could just as easily traipse over ivory and ebony much to the same effect, only to have his thoughts shaken by a slight tugging at the hem of his shirt. Looking down, he met the bright eyes of Blake, having silently moved from the couch to where he stood, startling him slightly. 

“Papa, what’s a waltz?” She asked, placing extra emphasis on the “z.” Normally one would wonder where a seven year old stumbled across such words, but Roman knew easily that she picked it up from one of the many books she was reading. 

“It’s a kind of dance.” He answered simply, turning back to the sudsy pot in his hands and listening to Blake hum softly in understanding.

“Papa, do you know how to waltz?” 

_ Does a bear shit in the woods?  _ Despite his rather humble beginnings as a petty thief, Roman now found himself seated near the top of a criminal empire, and to be the right hand of the Empress meant he regularly found himself at soirees and numerous other uppercrust functions. Business partners or clients would regularly extend invitations to Cinder to keep themselves in her good graces; to spurn the benevolence of Cinder Fall was to sign one's own death wish, regardless if you were paying  _ her _ or she, you. 

Many of Roman’s best memories were of such events, a smaller hand clad in a satin evening glove slipping into his own as the other rested upon his shoulder while he rested a palm against a hip draped in the finest silks and satins money could buy. Together they floated across gilded tiles and gaudy ballrooms, muttering obscenities and venomous japes to the other at the expense of their fellow partygoers and delighting as their partner snickered. In these moments, they were not merely business partners and co-workers, but something more intimately mundane and yet infinitely more dangerous; they were friends laughing over an unspoken joke as they reveled in the pageantry of those far more conceited than they, hands and arms brushing provocatively until next they found themselves chest to chest and hip to hip. 

“Yes, I do.” The shift in Blake’s face was immediate, her next question already leaping to her tongue.

“Can you teach me?” Gold eyes sparkled with hope and the hand loosely clinging to Roman’s shirt was joined by its twin and tugged lightly but insistently in the hopes of pulling him away from his chore. 

“Alright, after I finish the dishes.”

“No, Papa! I wanna learn now!” 

Roman was never the disciplinarian between himself and Cinder, Mama managing to lay down the law in a way that allowed for no questioning, but discipline was always treated like a learning experience. Something shifted within his girlfriend, motherhood making her softer and more mature in comparison to the crime lord who would shoot a man for standing a step left of where she told him. 

He was much less direct, always choosing to let her learn on her own, but then Blake very rarely went against her beloved papa. So in an attempt to divert the impending tantrum when he said no again, set down the pot in his hands. 

“Not right now,” immediately he saw the furrow between her brows and her ears tip back. “But if you want to dry for me, we can get to it faster.” Ears perked up and forehead smoothed:  _ crisis averted. _

Little hands grabbed the dishtowel and the nearest dripping pan and the two got to work, Roman occasionally swatting flotsams of bubbles down onto his daughter. 

Ten minutes later, the last pot was put away and the sink drained while Blake bounced on the balls of her feet waiting for Roman to round the corner. A few quick taps on the stereo and the CD skipped to a new track, a simple waltz starting up as he followed her into the livingroom. 

Slowly he explained to her the beat structure, the one-two-three rhythm, and walked her through a basic box waltz. Her little feet eventually found the patterns and it turned to a wobbly off-tempo waltz as he moved beside her in the same form. Soon she looked up at him, excitement and pride radiating from her form, and Roman thought it time to move on to the next step: partnered dancing.

Roman swiveled in front of Blake and took her hands, taking the lead and telling her to watch her feet and move when he moved his. They started slow, every other step tripping over the other foot as Blake tried her best to reverse the pattern until gradually they managed to nearly move through one set of three before one foot ended up trapped under another, Roman rocking onto his heels to keep his weight off Blake’s feet. Slowly but surely, Blake was starting to get it, but apparently it wasn’t fast enough learning for the little girl, and Roman could see the frustration building on her face in the tight draw of her lips, the way her nose wrinkled the same as her mothers does when she gets upset. Glittering yellow eyes looked up at him for guidance before she gives up completely, and Roman knows just what to do. 

“Hold on, kittycat.” In one swift motion, he hefts Blake up by the hands and manages a peal of giggles from the frown marring her expression and sets her bare feet down on top of his own sock clad ones. “Lean back a bit, alright?” She leans slightly, a trusting yet skeptical look sent up his way before Roman takes one step, moving his foot and hers to the first position of the box, second foot following. 

Long, short short, long, short short; soon they made it through one circle, and then another and another, Blake’s eyes lighting up and giggles bubble over from her and Roman smiles back at her. Around and around danced papa and daughter, so easily losing themselves in the tender moment between them neither noticed the sound of the front door opening and closing and the gentle click-clack of heels on hardwood. 

Cinder stood in the doorway, coat in hand and watched as her family turned round and round in her home, and was nearly overwhelmed with burning affection for both Roman and her daughter as they turned and danced and smiled like nothing in the world could ever be wrong. For just a moment, the tension and stress between her shoulder blades melted away and her feet didn’t ache from hours in stilettos. For just a moment, she was content with the world. 

Halfway through a turn, Blake noticed the figure standing in the entryway watching them with a soft grin, and broke away from Roman to greet her mother with a shout. 

“And what are we doing tonight?” Cinder asked, bending to return the tight hug her daughter wrapped her in, glancing over Blake’s shoulder and levelling a playfully accusing look Roman’s way.

“Papa was teaching me how to waltz!” came Blake’s excited chirp.

“Really? And how is that going?”

“Just fine, until you interrupted.” Roman said, walking over and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Well Blake, you should feel lucky.” Cinder teased, walking past them to throw her jacket over the back of the couch. “Your Papa hasn’t taken me dancing in years.”

This admission drew a gasp from her daughter and Cinder chuckled to herself but immediately choked on the sound when small hands pressed into the small of her back and tried to maneuver her towards her boyfriend, Roman nearly doubled over with laughter at the sight of a determined Blake did her best to push a rather startled Cinder into his arms. Either Cinder let it happen, or Blake’s faunus traits shining through and boosting her strength, but in a matter of seconds Cinder found herself pressed into Roman’s front and Blake immediately retreated, sitting back with a pleased grin.

“Then you should dance with Papa!”

“I- I don’t think- I” Cinder stammered, a light blush dusting her cheeks. A gentle hand taking her right hand while the other rested gently on her hip broke her from her babble.

“Dance with me.” Roman asked, softly, and she had no choice but to give in. 

With a soft laugh, she shook her head and squared her shoulders, right hand coming to rest on his shoulder as he pulled her even closer and everything fell into place, muscles remembering steps from long ago.

She took a breath, ribs pressing into his as he inhaled, both steadying themselves as they waited for the right moment in the music, and they moved as one. Every move he made, she mirrored perfectly, never once looking down to her feet and never once did he stumble. A simple waltz slowly became much more as they added steps; a twirl here, a dip there, and soon they were no longer in the cherry and mahogany of their home. 

The pair stepped and twirled through memories of lavish and gilded ballrooms, mirrors along the walls reflecting other dancers and the light of crystal chandeliers winking and dancing across them as they moved. They heard the distant echoes of violins long silent and the idle chatter of the upper class that turned to a gentle hum, reality lost to them as they took in the sheer sensation to be pressed this close to one another, trusting the other with every step and every movement. 

Round and round they turned, dipped, reached, lifted, until they ended in a particularly deep dip, Cinder nearly upside down in Roman’s arms, her own flung around his neck and they held the pose, chests heaving and pressing against each other still in the most intimate of ways. Neither could tear their eyes from their partner, the tension between them achingly familiar yet softly foreign; a sweet and warm yearning spreading across their bodies and seeping out as a heated desire on heavy, heaving breaths. Lips moved closer together, one intent on both minds and immediately shattered by the sound of small hands clapping.

“That was amazing!” Blake cheered from her spot on the sofa as Roman pulled Cinder back into a standing position, a blush creeping up her neck and across her chest. “Can you teach me to do that, Mama?” 

“Maybe,” Cinder croaked, trying her hardest to find her voice, “but I think it’s time for little girls to be getting ready for bed.”

“But Mama, I d-”  
“‘But Mama’ nothing, sweetheart. Time to get ready for bed. If you’re fast, we can even read two chapters tonight.” Cinder chided, knowing full well that the moment she steps out of the room, Blake will be under the covers with another book and a flashlight. “Now say goodnight to Papa.”

With a kiss on the cheek from Roman, Blake skittered upstairs, Cinder hot on her heels to change out of her work wear.

* * *

 

Forty-five minutes later, Cinder descended the stairs wrapped in sweatpants and a cardigan, exhaustion lying heavy in her limping gait as she shuffled into the common room where Roman awaited her with a glass of her favourite Merlot in hand. A groan of approval slipped from her lips as she took a heavy swig from the glass, relishing the warmth that swept through her system while she set the glass down on the coffee table beside her, stepping into Roman’s chest and wrapped her arms about his waist. Arms coiled across her back and held her safely in place, Roman beginning to gently sway back and forth in a gentle rocking motion. Without her heels she barely stood up to his shoulders, and here in his arms, she felt so insignificantly small, yet infinitely protected. It was a beautifully warm feeling she had never felt in all her days, and she wanted to savor every second of it she could get. 

Her head tipped back and she rested her chin on his chest, jaw barely atop his sternum, and she could feel and hear the steady  _ lubdub _ of his heart reverberate through her jaw. “So you’re exposing my delicate seven year old daughter to the lascivious and debaucherous world of ballroom dancing, hmm? You know how these things go; one minute it’s a waltz, the next, she’s doing the tango, or, dare I say it, a  _ tap routine. _ ” 

A chuckle reverberated through his chest as he craned his neck to look down at her. “Of course. Better she learns the cruel, terrifying ways of the aristocracy from us than some disgusting viscount.”

This time it was Cinder’s turn to laugh, pulling her hands from around his hips to move and circle his neck, pulling him closer and pushing herself up onto her toes to place a soft kiss against his lips, fingers combing through wild ginger curls. Roman leaned back in to steal another kiss, lingering longer this time, savouring the warm touch of her lips and the way he could feel her smiling against him. They pulled apart to rest their foreheads together, savouring the simple and endearing contact between them for as long as they could, until Cinder spoke up. 

“The Fang is angry.” She whispered. 

So the White Fang was growing restless again; gnashing their teeth at the idea of being “owned” by a human. The gang being a subsidiary of the Fall Criminal Empire, Cinder funded their war, they did her dirty work, easy as that. Every so often they would get their dander up, thinking they could easily get by without Cinder’s contribution and silent guidance, and would make their protests known. In recent years, the faunus got their hands on a rather large pool of weapons and Roman sincerely hoped their barrels didn’t end up trained on their employer, though it looked as though they might. 

“You’re gonna meet with them?” He asked, just as quietly, tightening his hold on her. 

“I have to. If they get away from us, we lose nearly half our revenue, a quarter of our force, and could easily see a turf war. We can’t afford that, especially with Blake.” She turned her head, tucking her chin into her shoulder and cheek against his chest. “I’m meeting with Adam tomorrow; hopefully he’ll see reason.”

“As if those filthy mutts could see reason.” He snorted. 

“Hey now, your daughter is one of those ‘filthy mutts.’”

“No, she’s not. She’s beautiful and perfect and my little girl. Big difference.”

“Roman,” Cinder sighed into his chest, fists balling and tightening in his shirt, “if anything happens to me tomorrow, I want you to take Blake and go. You’ll be the first one they come after next, and if the find Blake-” 

“If anything happens, there’s no way I’m just gonna leave you here!” He started, pulling back a bit to look Cinder square in the eye. “I’ll take her to Junior’s or something. I won’t just leave you to die!”

Hands moved to cup Roman’s face and Cinder’s voice was even, “Roman, if you come chasing after me, and something happens to you, what will happen to Blake? One of us has to be there for her. I have to be the one to go tomorrow.” Again, she brought their foreheads together. “Can you promise me you’ll take her and run if something happens?”

“I just- I- Cinder there-”  
_“Roman.”_ Her voice stern and hard, shaking him to the core. 

“Yes. We’ll run.” 

“Thank you.” She whispered, holding him there for a moment before moving again to kiss him, this time a bitter reluctance coating her tongue and lips. The sharp taste of melancholy dripped from Roman’s lips, poisoning her with an aching sadness at the thought of losing her family. It chilled her and set the blood in her veins to stone, the weight of it threatening to send her crumbling in on herself at the first sign of weakness. 

Roman broke away first and wrapped her in a tight hug, crushing her to his chest in a meagre attempt to protect her. 

“Roman, I’ll be okay, I promise.” It’s muttered into his chest in a vain hope that it will calm the rapid thrumming of his heart beneath her ear, and he merely grunts in response. Pulling back, she looked up again, an almost playful look burning in her eyes.   
“Tell you what, let’s make a bet; I come back from this, you win and I’ll get rid of the kid for a night or two and you can spend as much of that time telling me how much of a bad idea this was and how I’m such an idiot.”

“And if you win?”

“If I win, I get to spend the rest of your natural life haunting you and making snide comments about your wardrobe.”

A full laugh shook its way from Roman, and he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. 

“Cinder Fall, you morbid bitch, you know I’m not much of a gambling man.”

“Yes or no, Roman.” The challenge was clear on her face.

“Deal.” He said, leaning back in to kiss her, sealing his deal with the devil. 


	5. Hush Little Baby, Don't Say a Word

Friday morning went nearly the same as every morning, but Roman was wound tighter than a spring. He rose early, as he did every morning, and looked to where Cinder cocooned herself in all the blankets on the bed she pulled off Roman during the night. She looked an absolute mess with dark hair seeping across pillows in a tangled ink stain, curled on her side and nearly face down in the portrait of graceful and elegant repose. A moment longer than usual he sat and watched her, trying to convince both himself and the seed of worry taking root in his stomach that this wouldn’t be the last time he sees her; She’d be home this evening in time for dinner, he told himself and prayed he wouldn’t be wrong.

Fully dressed five minutes later, Roman wandered down into the kitchen, snagging the paper off the front porch and skimming it over a cup of coffee. The headline boldly proclaimed the latest string of crimes and terror attacks enacted by the White Fang, and the seed in his stomach sent out its roots; twisting his insides in painful contortions that sent a fine layer of sweat gathering on his palms. Nervousness began creeping up his throat and he slammed the paper onto the counter, turning to pull food out of the fridge and cook the stress from his system.

With ingredients set out on the counter, he made his way back upstairs to wake Blake and get her moving for the day. Her bedroom door opened silently and Roman stepped inside, a gentle smile pulling at his lips as he found his daughter in the same state he left her mother in earlier; black cat ears barely poked out from the pile of blankets rolled up on the bed, and the mass wiggled slightly when poked. A little digging finally revealed Blake’s face which scrunched up at the new cold draft and crumpled in even more as Roman leaned down to kiss her forehead gently, doing his best to wake her easily. Blake squeaked and groaned, but roused herself no less and slipped from bed to get dressed. Roman stepped back into the hall and listened for the sounds of Cinder getting up. At the end of the hall, he heard feet hitting the hardwood and shuffling around, accompanied by a long, drawn out groan and indistinct mutterings soon swallowed by the sound of the master bathroom’s shower. With his ladies up and moving, he could return to the kitchen with confidence.

Fifteen minutes later saw Blake tottering down the stairs and over to the table where Roman laid out a plentiful breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast. Another ten minutes brought a more conscious Cinder down the stairs, jaw set and shoulders squared.

Roman never liked seeing her like this; preparing herself for bloodshed and war. The cold look in her eye shook Roman to the core, the diminutive woman before him suddenly seeming three feet taller than he and possessing enough strength and power to strip him of everything he loved. Before her now, he felt insignificant and weak, and that any disobedience would cost him more than his life. The woman before him was not the tender mother or snarky but caring girlfriend he knew her to be; here in this moment, she was Cinder Fall, the monster who held at least half the world in the palm of her hand and feared no man. This was the creature he had seen in the past choke a man half to death because he was fifteen minutes late with a shipment she was expecting. The wraith who struck fear into an entire city at the slightest whisper of her crimes, who killed indiscriminately, who twisted the lives of others for her own gain and froze Roman where he stood in fear; this was his boss. She was raised and groomed from birth to stand tall over the living and build her throne from the bones of the dead, and with blood on her lips and death at her fingertips, she was in the most natural state known to her. Briefly in his mind’s eye, Roman saw a memory of a young woman no older than 21 with the same venomous promise and poise standing before him when he met his new employer.

In the sickeningly domestic life he slipped into, he nearly forgot he fell asleep every night in the bed of arguably the most dangerous person on the planet. That the satin sheets he slipped between were paid for with blood and dyed in the very same.

“G’morning, Mama.” Blake chirped through a mouthful of eggs, and Cinder stopped behind her daughter’s chair with cold eyes flicking to the cur who dare speak to her out of turn. Every muscle in her body coiled to lash out and assert her dominance and her hand lifted from her side, fingers poised to sink deep into flesh and for the first time since Cinder was pregnant, he feared for Blake’s safety at the hands of her mother. Fingers curled over Blake’s shoulder and Cinder leaned down to press a kiss to her daughter’s head, muscles tense and movements almost mechanic, but Roman breathed a sigh of relief. Even in this most primal state, Cinder still recognized her child.

Roman stepped forth to offer her breakfast, but she turned her predatory gaze his way and fixed him with a stare that brokered no argument.

“Roman, take Blake to school.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The response was automatic and he snapped to attention, all pretenses of affection lost between them; they were employer and subordinate. She moved past him with inhuman grace and plucked her keys from the counter and left, not once looking over her shoulder as the door split her from her family and her life. Inside, Blake continued to tear into her breakfast and Roman stood in the kitchen with a cold plate of food and an icy, creeping fear raking sharp claws down his spine.

The morning continued, Blake taken to school, Roman attending to his own nefarious matters as well as other jobs assigned to him by Cinder. An enforcement here, an extortion there; simple daily work. But every hour after he wiped the blood and dirt from his hands, he checked his phone, looking for any word from Cinder. Any small sign that she was alright or at the very least alive would release some of the clamping pressure about his ribs, but nothing came.

All day worry gnawed at the edge of his consciousness, the twisting in his gut never quite leaving him, even as he finished his last errand and picked Blake up from the Xiao Long-Rose household where she spent the afternoons after school. He and Blake talked dinner, evening plans, and he hoped Cinder would be home in time for the “super yummy” meal he and Blake were concocting. 

Home they went, and Roman took to the kitchen to cook as Blake skittered around with dishes and cutlery to set the table. Even as he toiled over the stove, Roman reached frequently to his back pocket to check his phone, searching for a missed text or to make sure the ringer was on full blast. Trying to distract himself, Roman drilled Blake about her day, nodding and listening while she rattled on about school and what she and Yang did that afternoon and “Yes Papa, we did our homework.” In the presence of Blake, Roman finally managed to relax a bit as she told him _everything_ that was going on in the book she was reading this week and he taught her how to peel potatoes, until he nearly had a heart attack when the front door swung open.

Roman dashed from the kitchen to greet his girlfriend and launched into mother hen mode, only to find a massive man standing in the entryway instead of his diminutive partner. Junior marched in, carrying a familiar black bag, a lackey carrying another two, moving into the kitchen while Junior spoke, already in business mode.

“She’ll be here soon. We need to be ready.” was his ominous warning accompanied by the tapping of little feet rushing up to him and Blake threw her arms around his knee.

“Uncle Bear!” She shouted ecstatically.

“Can’t play now kitten.” He growled, the child’s clinging weight at his leg not slowing his stride, Blake giggling and holding on to hitch a ride to the dining room, oblivious to her father’s sheer panic.

“Blake,” Came Roman’s sharp bark, trying to keep his worry internal and not frighten the girl. “why don’t we watch a movie tonight while we eat? Down in the cave?” He rushed over and scooped the little girl up, turning her away while Junior began his setup, having removed everything from the dining room table and laying out a blue surgical pad. “Go down and put a movie in, and I’ll be down in a little bit with dinner, okay?” Through the door to the basement and down the stairs he went, not waiting for Blake’s answer.

“Okay, but is Uncle Bear gonna eat with us?” She chirped as Roman set her down in the bunker.

“Maybe, but I need you to stay down here, okay kiddo? I have a special surprise for you, and I can’t give you a surprise if you see it.” He was thinking on his feet now, knowing that when Junior made a house call, it wasn’t good. Thankfully, Blake nodded excitedly and scurried over to the tv to choose a movie.

Roman sprinted back up the stairs three at a time, and burst back into the main house, rushing to the kitchen to find the dining room transformed into a makeshift but passable operating room. Junior’s lackey stood at the window by the door, staring out in anticipation.

“Junior what the hell is going on?” Roman demanded, anxiety rising in his throat with a wave of bile.

“She called me, told me to meet her here, and here I am.”

“Did she tell you what-”  
            “Boss, she’s here!” interrupted the lackey as tires screeched outside.

The trio quickly moved outside to find Cinder’s sleek black muscle car crooked and half over the sidewalk and into the lawn, the driver’s door opening and Roman watched with bated breath as Cinder struggled to rise from the vehicle. He dashed across the grass to her side, biting back a gasp and taking in her appearance; her entire front stained a wet crimson and she gasped for breath, eyes distant and face clammy. Quickly she was scooped into Roman’s arms, throwing her own weakly around his neck while the world spun in his mad dash to get her inside.

Cinder could feel herself slipping as her body came to rest on the dining room table, crystal chandelier sparkling above her before being blotted out by three figures, a sharp prick at the back of her hand paling in comparison to the hole in her chest, and the world faded to black.

At her side, Roman gripped the hand without the IV and watched as she slipped from consciousness until Junior barked at him to help remove Cinder’s blouse. Shirt and brassiere fell away to reveal a gruesome hole nearly at the center of her chest, just below the sternum. Blood bubbled to the surface slower than Roman thought it should, hoping it resulted from Cinder staunching the bleeding, and not that she didn’t have enough to pump out. Her chest rose and fell in shuddering motions and Junior pressed an ear to it, listening to the sounds of lungs and heart while Roman stepped back to let the man work.

“Only a minor lung collapse.” He reported tersely, straightening up and groping for tools Roman couldn’t hope to name. Sitting to the side uselessly, Roman could only watch the two men race against time to save his partner, consumed by panic, until Junior’s voice shook him to awareness.

“Torchwick, don’t you got a kid to feed?” he asked, subtly trying to get Roman to leave.

“Right, right.” The other man muttered, quietly shuffling about to gather food onto plates but quickly remembered the blood leaked onto his hands, shirt, and slacks. For the first time since Cinder got home, he became aware of his physical form; warm blood now cool against his chest and stomach, drying his shirt stiff, hands equally crusted in dark rust. The room shifted around Roman once the stench of blood hit his nostrils, head swimming and stomach churning. He’d patched Cinder up his fair share of times, only calling Junior for situations like the current, but this was far worse than he’d remembered dealing with in a long time.

A quick shake of the head brought him back to the present, and he whisked himself away to the master bedroom for a change of clothes and bit of cologne to mask the tang of blood, for Blake’s sake if not his own. A good long scrub at his arms managed to get the blood off, but Roman swore he could still feel the warmth of it against his skin. He stopped himself before scrubbing them raw, and made his way back downstairs to finish putting together meals for both Blake and himself. Turning to make for the basement, he sent one final look to where Cinder lay comatose on the table, Junior and his assistant working feverishly.

Down in the kitten cave, Blake was halfway through probably the third number, if Roman had to guess, of Beauty and the Beast when he walked in carrying plates of food. They settled down, Blake sitting in his lap, and ate in relative silence, until Blake began asking questions.

“Where’s Uncle Bear?”

“Upstairs, he has some things he needs to take care of.”

“What kind of things?”

“Grown Up things.” Came Roman’s immediate paternal go-to answer when Blake started getting close to things she ought not to know about yet.

“Is Mama home yet?”

That gave Roman pause. Does he tell her Cinder’s home? Does he tell her Cinder is staying late at the office? Either could very well lead to a rather deplorable outcome, so he weighed his options carefully. “Yes she is, _but”_ He knew Blake needed to be shut down before she dashed upstairs to greet her mother, only to find her bleeding and quite possibly dead on the kitchen table. Roman shuddered at the thought. “Mama isn’t feeling well, so she’s talking to Uncle Bear about it. It’s probably best if we leave them alone. You’ll get to see her later.”

Conflict was apparent on Blake’s face, the way she idolized her mother urging her to rush to her and greet the woman, but she also trusted her papa’s judgement. Papa was a good guy, right? Of course, he is. He’s Papa. The small furrow between petite brows melted into disappointment as she settled back into Roman’s lap with a muttered acceptance to continue the movie in silence, which didn’t last long.

“So is Uncle Bear a doctor?” Blake asked, all traces of melancholy leagues away from her voice.

“Yes, I suppose he is.”

“Does that make him Doctor Uncle Bear?” Was Blake’s immediate next question, sure to start calling Junior by the title the instant Roman confirmed it. The thought made Roman chuckle for the first time all night, and he wrapped his arms about the little girl and pulled her into a tight hug as he laughed.

“Yes, yes it does.”

Two hours later, Roman and Blake were still hunkered down in the kitten cave beneath a blanket, Roman managing to pull his mind away from Cinder and focus on his daughter, who was now dozing against his shoulder as the credits for a second movie rolled across the screen before them. The clock on the wall told him it was far past Blake’s bedtime and presented him with another challenge: getting Blake to bed without her noticing the operating room just past the stairs to the bedrooms.

Taking up the blanket draped over them, Roman did his best to pseudo-swaddle Blake, wrapping her in it and positioning her against his chest in a matter that, even if she did wake in transit, she wouldn’t catch a glimpse of the gruesome scene. Blake didn’t stir when Roman stood and made his way upstairs, throwing a glance over the bundle in his arms to where Cinder lay as Junior moved away with an air of finality. She looked to still be alive, a steady blood transfusion dripping into her system and soft but thready rasping breaths filled the quiet house. Once upstairs, Blake began to shift in his arms and wake, grunting softly. The pair slipped into Blake’s room and Roman tucked her into bed, willing to forego the usual bedtime routine to return downstairs as soon as possible. Blake offered no resistance, tired as she was. With what little energy she had, Blake sat up to hug Roman and kiss his cheek goodnight, asking quietly about her mother.

“She’ll be here tomorrow, kitten. I promise you’ll see her tomorrow.” He assured her, and hoped he wouldn’t be wrong. But Blake accepted it, burrowing down into her blankets and curling about the stuffed kitty he gave her for her birthday years ago. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Roman rose and left, shedding all composure once the door shut.

He nearly sprinted down the stairs and whipped around corners until he stood in the doorway of the dining room, searching for Junior and his prognosis. On the table lay Cinder, pale but breathing, gauze taped and wrapped about her chest and bare shoulder peeking above the afghan that normally lived folded over the couch in the common room. Beneath the blanket Roman groped for her hand, finding it as cold and limp as he feared. His free hand came to brush the bangs away from her face, forehead clammy and bits of hair plastering themselves to it, and he bent to place a kiss there.

“I think she’ll be okay.” Junior rumbled from the doorway, causing Roman to start upright. “Bullet missed most of the important stuff; dinged her up a bit. Should be fine.” The larger man moved into the room, packing away the last of his tools while he spoke. “She’s gonna be down for a while. I’ll stick around tonight, to observe.”

Roman nodded dumbly, eyes having fallen back to the prone form on the table. A heavy hand settled on his shoulder and Junior steered him to the side.

“Help me get her upstairs.” He muttered before bending slightly to lift the small woman into his arms, Junior’s massive size dwarfing her still as Cinder settled against his chest. “Get the tree and go up first.”

Hands Roman never noticed were shaking hefted the IV tree and he walked, slow and sure to keep the drip bag as high as possible and Junior moved behind him in long but even strides. Up the stairs they went in their slow fashion, Roman worrying every step of the way he might trip and tear the line from her arm, but still the posse made it upstairs with no major incident.    In the master bedroom, the IV tree made a home beside the bed and Roman rushed to pull the sheets back and get Cinder into a comfortable position, Junior close behind to lay her gently onto the mattress. Against the crimson sheets, she looked too small, too pale, too fragile for Roman’s comfort. The covers pulled up to her chin dwarfed her further, Cinder looking almost childlike under the mass of the duvet and it almost seemed to drown her in its downy weight.

As though he could sense Roman’s growing unease, Junior placed a hand on his shoulder yet again and grumbled. “She’ll be fine, Torchwick. The Boss is a tough lady.”

Roman only nodded stiffly, allowing Junior to steer him away yet again, leading him downstairs to fetch him a drink. He walked through the motions numbly, dropping ice into tumblers and drowning them in scotch before handing one off to Junior and nearly downing his in one go. The smooth burn running down his throat helped to still the subtle shaking of his hands and stiffen his quivering knees as he followed Junior into the common room where he sank onto the couch, Roman settling in an armchair across the room.

“This got you real shaken, don’t it?” Junior asked, breaking the silence that settled between the two men and snapping Roman’s gaze up from his drink. “’Bout twenty years ago, you probably wouldn’t have blinked if the Boss got plugged with lead. You changed.”

Ginger brows crashed together in a scowl. He wasn’t wrong; twenty years ago, they were just boss and employee, Roman harboring an indifference short of hatred towards Cinder. He hated her status above him, he hated her age, he hated her femininity. The mere thought of a _woman_ years younger than he, giving him commands as though he were a common thug or even a _dog_ rubbed him raw. He’d been in the business longer, seen every corner of this seedy world they lived in and met every type of lowlife crawling in the gutters, and yet she had the _audacity_ to order him around? No, twenty years ago, Roman would be ecstatic to see the mighty Empress in a crumpled heap, veins leaking lead and ichor.

His affection for her changed quickly, seeing how bloodthirsty and efficient she was. All her operations ran tightly like clockwork and she ruled with an iron fist and jaw of steel, the loaded pistol strapped to her back unloaded into the brain of the first person to stand against her and her wishes. Very quickly he learned she was not to be trifled with; this was her empire, and she the Empress, overseeing her subjects and spoils of war with critical eyes of flaming gold. Resentment turned to respect, and with respect came promotion, and with promotion came proximity. At Cinder’s right hand, he saw her every move, every thought, and took note. He learned her ways and upheld her expectations, earned her praise, and soon the empire blossomed further, their influence and power exploding across the land.

At this range, he saw her for who she was; regal, cold, calculating, but something warmer simmered below the sheets of ice and steel, and he couldn’t look away from the creature that moved with the deadly grace of a jungle cat. He learned the intricacies and simplicities of his employer, slowly working his way into an acquaintanceship and then slower yet, a tedious but genuine friendship. Genuine affections soon blossomed at the thought of his vicious employer, and when the pregnancy finally cracked through the ice and metal about her heart, he fell. _Hard._

Roman sighed, and Junior spoke again.

“It ain’t bad. You just have. Boss has too. But the Boss, she got scary. ‘Specially with something to hide.”

_Blake._ He meant Blake. Cinder did everything within her power to make sure her daughter was as far away from her line of work as possible; lying about her profession, where she disappeared to on some nights, sneaking about on the rare occasions she came home splattered in the blood of another or with a hole in her side, like tonight. None of her employees or business partners knew about Blake existing, let alone being related to Cinder.

She began pushing people away when she worked, more so than even before Blake; allowing none to get close enough to her to stumble upon her best kept secret, and if she felt anyone did, she promptly eliminated the threat to both Blake’s and her own safety. Everyone but the little girl was disposable to her, and she had no qualms with reminding the entire syndicate of that.

Her communication to her ranks were now short and terse, dominance established with every word and cold look sent down the length of her nose. The set of her shoulders warlike and the ethereal way she floated instead of walking served to remind those below her that they were merely insects beneath the designer heels of a goddess of blood and chaos, and no one was safe; not even Roman.

A few years ago, he made the mistake of saying the wrong thing to her in front of a group of fang grunts and he very quickly learned it had consequences. A fist smashed into his nose and sent him sprawling across the concrete floor of a warehouse. The rusty tang of blood dripped down his throat from a broken nose and coated his tongue as the world spun and the bright flashing lights began to dim. Very quickly, a sharp pain blossomed from his chest where the heel of her stiletto pressed against his sternum and the weight of her foot pressed the sole of the shoe into his throat to control his breath. Hands rose to claw at her ankle, but it only earned more pressure on the point at his breast and they fell uselessly to the side. She snarled admonitions at him, violent threats and warnings he knew all too well she could make good on, but none of them reached his ears. What little blood made it to his ears roared and silenced her venomous words as true, primal fear grasped his brain at the sight of the woman above him, slowly choking him without any hesitation. Those golden eyes he knew to be so warm, that he saw sparkle with delight every time she saw her daughter, looked at him with gentle reverence, they showed nothing of the woman he knew and loved. She looked almost dead inside, eyes dark and listless save for a single spark of violence that never seemed to leave the depths of her soul.

He was afraid. _Of her._ It was a bone deep fear that never truly left him, waking him in the night with dreams of constricting airways and the phantom taste of blood. The rest of the day he avoided her, doing his best not to cross her path nor draw her ire again. Finally, he came home late to a one year old Blake tucked away in her crib and fast asleep, Cinder all but throwing herself at him and grappling onto him in a tight hug as she apologized profusely and told him repeatedly how much it hurt her too and how she had to set an example, lest their underlings see her as weak and attempt a coup.

For nearly a week he slept on the couch and, avoided and ignored her, trying to parse his thoughts together and forgive her, and he finally did, step by step. Slowly, he began talking to her again, facing her at work and keeping his professional distance, joining Blake and Cinder for meals. The night he finally joined her in bed and pulled her against his side, he thought he might never get away from her again, judging by the way she clung to him almost desperately as though he wasn’t holding her equally tightly; a week without his gal left him starved for her gentle touch and surely she felt the same longing emptiness without him by her side.

“She’s still a good lady.” Junior’s voice broke Roman from his reverie. “Terrible human being, but a good person in the end. Raised a good kid. You too.” Roman just nodded, never seeing the normally monosyllabic man so verbose and he worried offhandedly that speaking would break the man’s streak. “Stick with the Boss, Torchwick. You’re good for each other.”

            Twenty minutes of conversation with Junior later, and Roman’s mind was churning as the massive man kicked off his shoes and stretched out across the couch, too tired to move to the guest room and Roman moved upstairs to check on Cinder. Junior was right, they were good for each other and had done a surprisingly good job so far with raising Blake. Maybe it was time for him to make sure he kept what was important to him close.

            Cinder still lay motionless in bed as he entered, though a bit of color returned to her pallid face. She hadn’t moved an inch from where he left her, and Roman took it as a sign she wouldn’t be awake any time soon. He bustled past her prone form and changed into pajamas and grabbed his bloody shirt from the laundry hamper and took it into the bathroom to soak in a bath of water and peroxide. He paid too much for that shirt to not try and salvage it.

            The low glow of the bathroom vanity lights set a morbid shadow creeping across his tired face, dark lines spidering across his face like cracks in a mirror. For a man in his mid-thirties, he looked ungodly tired; his eyes hollow and sunken, creases beginning to form at the edges of his mouth and nose and along his brow. He still thought himself dashingly handsome, but even he couldn’t deny the change sweeping over him, and tonight he felt just as old as the shadowed specter in the mirror looked. Try as he might, he couldn’t look away though, something about the thin face kept his attention, hardly recognizing it as his own. Time smeared as he studied the changes of the face before him until a soft noise and rustling from the bedroom snapped his attention from his reflection and he rushed to the bed.

            Cinder’s fingers twitched and curled as though she were testing to see if they worked, and soft grunts and whines worked their way from her chest as her face scrunched first in discomfort and then pain. Roman dropped to his knees beside the bed and grasped her hand while lightly running his fingers across her brow and cheeks, combing through her bangs and stroking at her forehead. More and more Cinder moved in bed, shifting as she woke from whatever hazy coma Junior put her in to operate. Eyes fluttered open for half a second before falling shut again and she went still, only to repeat the process again and again for a few minutes, each time managing to keep her eyes open for longer and longer, though they still fell shut quick enough that she never truly took in her surroundings. All she could tell was she lay in her room, something gentle and soothing skimmed lightly across the skin of her face, and a blinding, burning pain radiated from the center of her chest.

            A choked whine struggled past her lips and she opened her eyes and fought to keep them open, bleary eyes focusing weakly on Roman’s face as he continued to stroke through her bangs.

            “Hi there, Rosebud.” He whispered, smiling weakly as he watched her begin to truly wake up. “Gave me a bit of a scare now, didn’t you?”

            Cinder’s breathing began to get shorter and more labored, a hand moving sluggishly to clasp weakly at the hole in her chest, and Roman jumped to his feet and hurried to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. He returned shortly with a small glass of water and two tiny pills; opiates kept just for occasions like this. Slowly and with all the care in the world, he slipped one arm beneath Cinder’s head and shoulders and lifted her slowly, listening for any sound of pain or discomfort before tipping the pills past her lips and holding the glass for her to sip from with a soft urging of “easy now.”

            With painkillers administered, Roman lowered the woman back to the mattress and took her hand again, content to sit in silence and hold each other’s gaze. Finally, Cinder spoke in soft, heaving sentences as the painkillers began to kick in.

            “Where’s Blake?”

            “In bed and asleep.”

            “Did she...”

            “No.” Cinder sighed and nodded weakly, eyes struggling to focus on Roman’s face, now blurry and dark to her. Silence settled again, Cinder laying back with eyes shut as Roman traced the curves of her face and smoothed away the creases between her brows as her body began to slowly relax into the bed when she spoke again, words tired and slurred.

            “I guess you won the bet.” She murmured without bothering to open her eyes, and Roman managed to wheeze out an approximation of a laugh, shaking his head.

            “I guess I did, you morbid bitch.” He moved gently to press a kiss to her forehead and then one to her lips as she drifted back into a numbed sleep.

            With the knowledge that Cinder was going to be okay, exhaustion truly crashed over Roman with the force of a train and he hauled himself from the ground to slip into bed beside Cinder, turning on his side to press against her flank and slip one arm beneath her neck and head while the other pulled her hand across her body and laced their fingers together. In this position, Roman could feel every rise and fall of her stomach as she breathed, easing what little tension remained in his tired form as he pulled himself closer yet and kissed her atop the head, settling in for a long night, full of dreams of gunshots, flashes of red, and the shouts of a little girl.

            Hulking black masses pierced with white spines shambled after her, and no matter how fast she ran, Blake couldn’t get away. Their needlelike teeth nipped at her heels and she ran and ran until her legs hurt, breath heaving in her chest and a terrified scream caught in her throat that she couldn’t force past stubborn lips no matter how hard she tried. Terror multiplied when a pale witch of a woman joined the roaring beasts, flying above them with pale hair streaming behind her, black and white marbled hands reaching to grab at Blake, sharp claws brushing through the girl’s hair and whispering against her scalp just millimeters from sinking into her skull. A dark root sprung up from the ground and wrapped about Blake’s ankle, sending her sprawling to the ground and the beasts chasing her fell upon her in waves of red and white ichor and ripping teeth.

            Blake awoke in a tangle of blankets, heart racing and every shadow crawling across her room harbored the monsters pursuing her. Panic gripped her and she skittered out of bed, jumping from the bed across the floor so the witch hiding under her bed couldn’t snatch up her ankles and padded out into the hall to find Mama and Papa to banish the creatures of her nightmares.

            She got halfway down the hall when a loud rumbling drew her attention to the common room below. Peeking through the banister and down into the room below, she saw the hulking mass of Junior sprawled across the couch and snoring like diesel engine, and immediately her plans changed. Uncle Bear was so much bigger that both Mama and Papa, so who better to protect her from the witch and her beasts?

            Tiny feet pitter-pattered their way downstairs and up to the couch barely containing the massive form of her “uncle bear” where she gently poked his arm. It took a few pokes and shakes, but she finally roused him with a spluttering grunt and he looked to her in momentary confusion before his memory kicked in and he remembered exactly where he was.

            “Uncle Bear, I had a bad dream.” She said quietly.

            “Okay.”

            “Can I sleep with you?”

            “Uh, sure.” Junior would have told anyone that he was too tired to argue with the little girl, and while that was partially true, he would be lying if he said she didn’t have him wrapped about her little finger. Blake had a strange charm that she cast over anyone who met her, and they quickly fell to her beck and call, too enamored to say no.

            Blake’s eyes lit up the dark, and she scrabbled up onto the couch, Junior making sure she didn’t slip until she settled atop his massive chest and curled into herself before Junior pulled the afghan back over them both and they settled in for the rest of the night.

            The next morning when Roman came down to prepare breakfast, the tender sight of his daughter and closest “friend” curled up together on the couch warmed every corner of his heart and he slipped his phone from his pocket for an excellent blackmail opportunity. He continued about his business, trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake his little girl, and hoped that this peaceful and idyllic life could continue for Blake; hoping she never had to face her parents for what they were.


End file.
